


All You Need

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: AU, M/M, a bit fluff, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is Zayn's neighbour whom he wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by that drabble on Tumblr about Artist!Zayn just a window away from Writer!Harry.  
> This is self indulgent and the product of watching too much anime and fluffy Kdrama. And I got fascinated by the concept of C.N. Blue's [Can't Stop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75KBwVtd_W0) music video. 
> 
> P.S.  
> Mention of violence

_i promise to plant_

_kisses like seeds in your body,_

_so in time you can grow_

_to love yourself as i love you._

**-Tyler Knott Gregson**

Zayn hears something breaking from the flat next door and he flinches, startled by whatever has been destroyed this time. It also happened at 3am and most of the tenants complain about the regularity of the noise but does nothing about it. How can they, when the one creating the clamour are the owners of the building.

He really should have chosen that flat at Camdeninstead of this one in Putney. He can’t complain now because it’s much cheaper and closer to his uni.

There’s another bang and more screaming – of a woman and a man. Last time, they were yelling at each other about the electricity bill and then about toothpaste. It seems that they quarrel about anything and everything.

Zayn doesn’t know the Styles couple very much. He just knows that they’re called Anne and Des – learned it from his other neighbours. And the last thing he knows about them is that they have a son, Harry, who is about Zayn’s age.

He saw Harry twice since his 3 weeks stay, literally next door to the Styles because unfortunately, it’s the only unit available. He heard a rumour that it’s due to the fact that no one can stand the racket that happens _every_ day.

**

It’s sunny outside, a good weather to bask and smoke at the same time. So Zayn does.

He opens the window and sits at the sill, dangling his other leg outside and the other in. It’s a good thing that the window is big, so he can lean on its frame.

There’s a shuffle from the room next door. Then after a moment, a mop of dark brown curls starts to emerge from the window and then the full head.

For a moment, Zayn thought that the boy’s going to jump. His hands leaning on the sill, the top half of his body has been leaning on the outside of the building. And the boy moves, clumsily finding a position. Zayn’s fear grows.

‘That’s not very safe, mate,’ he warns in alarm.

The boy – it’s Harry, Zayn realises – glares at him. ‘Who fucking cares, right?’

Zayn’s taken aback by the acid in Harry’s tone. How can someone, looking like a seraph, has so much loathe in his voice. What broke Harry?

‘Well, I do,’ he replies after a short pause, thinking of the proper answer. ‘The police might say that I pushed you or summat. And I’m too pretty to go to prison.’ He smiles and bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Harry looks at him like he grows another head.

And maybe Zayn did because he’s so out of his element. He doesn’t do small talk and jokes. That’s what Doniya, his elder sister, is for in their family.

‘What if I left a will and it says there that I have jumped out of my own choice?’ Harry raises one eyebrow.

And that’s the only time that Zayn noticed how green Harry’s eyes are. So green it reminds him of spring. He likes to draw those green in Harry’s eyes into his canvas to give people hope and warmth on cold winters.

Zayn thinks again for the right reply. It’s always been like that for him, thinking before opening his mouth. He filters everything, makes sure he won’t regret whatever words he gives to the world.

‘But it’d still be troublesome for me,’ he says. ‘The police will surely come in and question me.’ He pauses, observes the changes in Harry’s expression. ‘And to be honest, I don’t have much time with interrogations. Not with a project due next week and tons of quizzes and exams.’

He feels like this is the longest conversation he has done in a long time. He kind of misses having someone to talk to other than his cat, Raven.

‘I’m Harry, by the way.’ His wits seem to be pacified.

‘Zayn.’

**

Zayn’s smoking by his window again. It’s freezing outside but he must endure because he can’t have his Mum showing up the next day and smelling his cigarettes. Tricia knows that he smokes but she doesn’t approve of it, so he does his best not to slap it on her face that he can.

She has a very high sense of smell because no matter how much perfume or freshener he sprays in his room, she can always tell the smell of his cigarettes. Thus, he finds a solution to smoke with his window open to lessen the smell or maybe completely mute it.

‘I like your music,’ a voice says.

It startles Zayn that he swears he almost drops. It’s just Harry.

‘Thanks,’ he says, hesitantly, not quite sure if Harry was being sarcastic about his comment.

Harry’s sitting in the same position Zayn is, like riding the window sill. He’s facing Zayn with his eyes closed and humming along to the blaring sound of _Nice Piece of Art_ by FM Static.

‘I didn’t know you’d be into bands like this,’ Harry says, eyes opening and staring at Zayn as if finding which part of Zayn makes him like FM Static.

Zayn shrugs. ‘This is my high school nostalgia playlist,’ he explains, blowing a thick smoke from his mouth.

Harry actually giggles. And Zayn didn’t miss the dimples that carved his cheeks.

‘It’s during my era too.’ He nods.

A comfortable silence passes between them as the next song, _You Found Me_ by The Fray, fills the quietness.

‘I mostly listen to Drake nowadays,’ Zayn confesses. It’s always nice to have someone know what you like and not, sometimes.

Harry looks surprise, didn’t expect Zayn to share any personal information.

‘What do you listen to?’ Zayn asks, because sometimes, for Harry to open up, you have to ask.

‘Just anything,’ Harry answers. He’s lost inside his own mind, probably remembering all the songs that he likes to listen to at 3am when he can’t sleep. ‘Any music works for me, as long as they block the noise of reality.’

Zayn wants to reach out to Harry at that moment, touch him and place him in his arms to make him feel safe.

**

Zayn is a person of habit. And he believes that his daily rendezvous with Harry becomes one as well.

‘So you’re an art major,’ Harry repeats, voice colouring with awe.

‘Yeah.’ He lights his first cigarette for the night.

‘That’s so cool.’ He sounds like a kid being informed that Zayn is friends with Superman. There’s no envy, just pure genuine admiration. ‘I kind of want to go to uni too.’

‘What are you going to take?’ he asks, curiously.

Harry looks at his hands, plays with them actually – a nervous habit. ‘I want to be a writer.’

He looks up to Zayn bravely, daring Zayn to laugh at his dream. And it’s a heartbreaking thing to watch, Harry being scared of his own dream when he should be proud of it.

‘That’s bloody brilliant,’ Zayn says. ‘Maybe you should write about me one day, yeah?’

‘I could start with _Once upon a time, there lived a handsome, yet narcissictic boy_ ,’ Harry teases, smiling.

Zayn wishes to keep that smile on his face. Or maybe put it in a bottle and stare at it when he’s down, because it never fails to not make him smile as well.

‘You should include a curly haired frog,’ Zayn retorts back, giggling as he imagines it.

‘Or,’ his eyes all light up, ‘it can be an illustrated kind.’ Harry’s grinning so big now that Zayn thinks of the sun. ‘You draw, I write.’

The night doesn’t seem so bleak at all when Harry’s smiling like this, voice going high-pitch with excitement.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ Zayn can see it.

When Zayn glances, Harry’s already looking back down at his own hands.

Harry can’t.

Zayn stares again – it’s borderline impolite – and wonders how a ray of sunshine and rainbow of unicorns like Harry be associated with Anne and Des; there’s no sign that he’s in the same shitty situation as them. And as he looks closely, he sees it – the tired bags under Harry’s eyes, the chapped lips with bruises from being bitten too much, and the twitch in Harry’s hands that becomes a telltale how everything startles him easily. Harry looks so vulnerable and Zayn sees that now,

And as if on cue, something inside Harry’s flat gets smashes that make the boy wince.

**

He hasn’t seen Harry for two days straight and something in Zayn aches. He hears them next door; the screaming is endless and it’s frightening. He’s doesn’t care about all the havoc going on, but he does because Harry’s next door.

It’s been dead silence for the third day of no Harry. But when 3am hits, when everything else is quiet, Zayn’s stillness breaks.

He’s not sure how he’s able to wake up; he’s been sleeping with his Beats on for the last three days of the never ending row of arguments. But he hears it, a slow whimpering sound of sobs.

It’s coming from his wall in which his bed is attached to. It’s low and quiet, like someone’s voice cracking when they cry. And it’s the worst thing that he’s heard because he knows how much pain it carries.

‘Harry?’ he whispers, lips close to the wall. The silent wailing doesn’t stop. He taps it, demanding attention. ‘Harry?’

The sound stops. Zayn doesn’t like the muffled crying that he hears next. It’s always painful to try and build a dam when the river current is strong.

Zayn’s heart aches.

He touches the wall with his palm and wishes he can be there with Harry at the other side to comfort him.

**

The next night, it happens again.

It keeps on happening for the next three nights.

And Zayn wants to kick himself for being not able to do anything. He can’t go and ring the Styles because that seems pointless. Plus, he’s scared out of his wits of Des. He’s heard that he’s a druggie and that could mean he’s a man you don’t want to cross.

What would Zayn do or say anyways? _Hello, I’m Zayn from next door, a friend of your son. Can I talk to him?_ What if Harry’s not allowed to talk to people? And if he does, he gets punished; Zayn had seen a few little bruises on his wrists.

It’s also not like he can corner Harry and make a run for it because the boy doesn’t leave the flat. Or maybe he’s not allowed too.

Christ! What kind of people did Zayn end up with?

**

It’s 1am. Zayn listens carefully because that’s all he can do now. He’s already frustrated that he’s just like waiting for someone to die before he calls the police. Maybe he should do that. Call the police before a dead body is found next door.

He then remembers what he told Harry the first time they’ve had a conversation. And right now, he doesn’t care about the interrogation.

If he calls the police, will they also arrest Harry? As what he had learned from crime shows, the people present during a crime are also found guilty. What if Des pins Harry as well when he gets arrested?

‘Zayn.’ It’s low and muffled that Zayn almost missed it.

‘Harry?’ He rises up immediately and scampers closer to the wall. ‘Are you okay?’

He doesn’t hear a reply.

‘Harry?’ he tries again. Nothing.

Zayn considers everything before doing anything rush.

He goes to the window and peaks at Harry’s window. There’s no light coming from it. He considers and calculates then lurches his right leg outside, finding a curve to step on. The distance is little, but now that Zayn’s fully outside, stepping on a slope under his window, he feels like it’s a kilometre long.

He doesn’t look down, knows it won’t help his ounce of courage. It’s chilly out but he’s perspiring severely as he tries not to fall.

For the first time, he’s glad about the metals – that used to be where the AC sits – outside their windows. He holds on to them for dear life, and prays that they’re not that rusty. If those steels give away, he can’t cast a web like Spiderman to break his fall.

It may have taken an eternity to reach Harry’s window, or so Zayn thinks. The windows ajar so he spills inside without problem, his legs and arms becoming like jellies as if too happy to see solid ground.

‘Harry?’ he whispers in the dark. ‘Harry?’

There’s no reply. Zayn’s suddenly not sure if he made the right decision to come after all. What if he got the wrong room? What if Des is in the room?

He’s stomach churns uncomfortably at the last idea. He feels like he’s going to have a panic attack.

He keeps on calling to Harry and is about to give up when the clouds clears the sky, the moon’s light covering half of the space. And that’s when Zayn notices the small figure next to the wall, right where he sleeps on the other side.

Harry’s eyes are squeezed close, knees bended and pulled close to his chest. His hands cover his ears and his mouth moving like he’s chanting. But Zayn knows he’s singing to himself, lulling the painful reality.

In that grey light, Zayn can tell the tears that wets Harry’s cheeks. There’s that ache in Zayn’s chest again. So, he does what he knows will lift that heaviness in his heart. He kneels down in front of the unknowing Harry and puts his headphones on the boy.

 _Your Guardian Angel_ by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, awakens Harry from his stupor. His tears rimmed eyes focuses on Zayn with disbelief. He removes one hand beneath the headphone and slowly reaches out to Zayn, stopping at midway with hesitation and fear.

Zayn leans into Harry’s hand, cheeks against Harry’s warm palm. ‘It’s okay, Haz,’ he whispers, not taking his eyes off Harry. ‘I’m here.’

Harry removes his other hand as well, Zayn’s headphones fully seated on his head, with the speakers properly singing the music to his ears. He cups Zayn’s face in his hand like he’s afraid Zayn will disappear like a bubble.

‘I’m really here, yeah?’ Zayn assures.

‘I know,’ Harry replies weakly with a tired smile but a glow of hope in his eyes.

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You know the drill. xoxo


End file.
